Popcorn Rocks

Up until I was maybe ten years old we'd drive up to visit my Aunt Brenda and cousins Jennifer, Christy and Michael. We always called Michael “Junior” or “Mike-eye”. It wasn't a terribly long drive. They lived near Achille, Oklahoma less than half an hour away from Bonham. We made this trip probably every other month. The other months they'd drive down to see us. It was much more fun to go up to see them though, by a long shot.

Aunt Brenda was a few years younger than my dad, she was an only sister raised with six brothers, my dad being the youngest boy. Aunt Brenda was a skinny ginger that always had a can of Pepsi in one hand and a cigarette in the other. She represented Oklahoma to me in that I always associated Pepsi with Oklahoma. I believed that all Oklahomans drunk Pepsi. Jennifer is four years older than me, Christy is two years older than me and Michael two years younger than me.

Aunt Brenda and uncle Mike had a farm. They had acreage and their property backed up to the Red River. This was all a gold mine for activity. Just driving there was worth the trip. The very last stretch of road on the way to Aunt Brenda's house was a gravel road straightaway in the middle of nowhere. Dad would allow my sister and me to take turns sitting in his lap and “drive” to my aunt's. I really believed I was in control. Unlike the fun “wheelies” the church bus driver would pop, this was believable. This was so cool, I couldn't even reach the pedals but man did I blast through that dusty white rock road!

When April and I weren't driving we watched out the back window as the pebbles flew up in the air behind us creating a particle cloud in our wake. We called these “popcorn rocks”. Witnessing this mass of dirt and stone explode and condense at our rear was almost as fun as driving. It was all enjoyable and enhanced the anticipation of playing with our cousins and the consumption of rice crispy treats that Aunt Brenda always dutifully prepared for us to feast on upon our arrival. Those were the days.

We did cow chip throwing, three wheeler driving and played house in the old farm house on the property. Nothing was in that house but old furniture that was rusted out and falling apart. No electricity or running water in the house. The front porch had one of those spring ride-on horses. I was way too big but like bouncing on it. The squeaking noise was probably the most fun thing about that toy.

https://www.pinterest.com/pin/481814860110925338/

We didn't do any cow tipping—that's not really a thing. If we were barefoot or wore shorts we had to be on the lookout for “cow needles”. We called them cow needles but really they were bull nettles. Bull nettles are sneaky little plants that hid amongst grass and weeds. If you touch it you got a nasty sting. It would hurt so bad for a long time. I only got stung once, but it was so painful it was always top of mind out there.

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We would play king of the mountain on top of large round bales of hale. This was fun, but you didn't want to fall off. Sometimes uncle Mike would drive us out to the river and back down a steep hill with his boat on a trailer and give us a ride up and down the river. There was this quasi-wooded area that was a sort of valley, it was almost like a flood plain. This place was recessed down in a cubby type area with trails that developed over years of running and riding bikes and three wheelers. We played whatever it is little kids played in there.

One time we played gladiators. I was terrible at this. It was Mike-eye against me. The girls dressed us up in whatever garb they could imagine made us look like warriors. We were given mop handles and told to have at it...and I got destroyed. I wasn't confident or brave. I wasn't worried about hurting Mike-eye. I was worried about him hitting me and getting hurt. I didn't want to fight! And I was a 8 or 9 year old getting beat by a 6 or 7 year old. It was embarrassing but I didn't care. I didn't want pain afflicted upon me for the mere enjoyment of my sick and twisted cousins (and sister). Girls are sick people.

One time I was disgusted by a large white block that was on the ground.  I wasn't disgusted by it, just about what I discovered.  I rubbed it, it felt pretty neat.  What was this odd thing?  One of my cousins told me it was a salt lick.  What on earth is that?  I licked the thing because that's the sort of thing 7 year old boys do.  She snickered and told me that cows lick it for nutrients.  Gross!  I was part of a one way saliva swap with a faceless bovine beast!  This was not the only negative experience involving cattle on my part though.  Christy and I were out and about and needed to get back to the house for supper and decided we would cut through one of the cow pastures.  Bad idea.  Almost immediately a large aggressive bull charged at us and nearly obliterated Christy.  Guess we took the scenic route to dinner.

It was a real treat for us to stay the night over there. My sister would squeeze in one of the girl's beds and I would sleep on a pallet on their floor. I would stay up late just staring out the window when the blinds were open. Out there in the country the sky seemed to never be cloudy. Countless stars there to be counted. It was so beautiful to me. So calming. All though I laid on the floor all night, I always got good sleep. Even today as I live in Oklahoma I still take pleasure in seeing the stars dot the night sky as I gaze out the window next to my bed with my wife on my other side. The bliss on that bedroom floor cannot rival today's experience, yet that youthful innocence and the complete absence of worries inhibited any worries or doubt.

Inevitably our parents would pick us up the next day. Their mini-vacation from their kids ended. We'd head on back to Texas where the paved roads were. We never saw popcorn rocks in Bonham. We never bothered looking for them, never promised ourselves the enjoyment that only a dust cloud left in our wake could provide.   

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My sister, Jennifer, me, Christy. 1986

If I had to pick a single song to be the sountrack to this post it would be...